


Poisoned Trust

by cobain_cleopatra



Series: Little Crow [9]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Dishonored AU, Fluff, Grumpy Daud, High Chaos Daud (Dishonored), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Samuel is Dishonored's true hero, Smut, Snarky Corvo, Violence, whaler Corvo, younger Corvo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-05-14 02:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobain_cleopatra/pseuds/cobain_cleopatra
Summary: Corvo left to die on the river, Daud and the whalers at the Abbey’s mercy, and Emily in a tyrant’s hands again. It was the Loyalists’ plan from the beginning. But they didn’t account for Samuel.





	1. The Eight Hours

_Three hours since the Loyalists’ betrayal_

In all the years spent at his side, Thomas had never seen Daud like this. He’d seen him troubled, frustrated, even in pain. But not this. Never silent and shaking in his anger, slouched in the corner of a cage.

Sokolov’s cage, or what had been before today. Martin had his men move the Royal Physician to the workshop. He and Piero were under guard of the militia now. Thomas could hear the Watch guards – once the Lord Regent’s, now Havelock’s – patrolling the courtyard outside. They were loud, raucous, keyed up over why they’d been assigned there. The authorities had never rounded up so many heretics in one place before.

Thomas flinched on instinct at the sudden, harsh sound of something clanging against metal. Arden had swung his fist at the cage bars.

“Cultist cunts–”

“Quiet down, heretic! Or I’ll come in there and break that crooked shit-pile you call a nose.”

“Fuckin’ bastar–”

Thomas caught the whaler’s arm before he could swing again. “Keep your head.” 

Having the ancient music on their side had made the Overseers cocky, but they were all still noticeably tense. Tight shoulders, fingers tapping against their sabres. Beneath the gold masks, their eyes kept flitting to the cage. Tension made men unpredictable, and Arden’s temper was helping none.

“Don’t rile them up,” Thomas warned in a low voice. “Not like this. We’re closed in.”

Arden bit out a curse at him, but had sense enough to step away from the bars. He knew Thomas was right. Their circumstances were precarious enough without trying to push their luck. _Whatever luck we have left,_ Thomas added to himself grimly.

He rubbed his temples against the relentless drone of the cultists’ music boxes. The four Overseers assigned them were stationed in each corner of the warehouse, and the contraptions were clutched tightly to their chests; the levers continually turning, turning, until staring at the motion for too long began to make Thomas’ vision swim.

He carried out another headcount instead. Feodor, Rinaldo and Kieron to his right; Vladko and Yuri nearest the cage door; Quinn and Jenkins furthest. Arden had slumped down near the twins. Anthony was still as a statue, while Rapha strode about.

 _Five steps, stop, turn, five steps, stop, turn_.

A nervous habit of hers, Thomas knew. They had been captives for hours now and very few of them could tolerate being confined for so long, not after the freedom Rudshore had provided them for Outsider knew how many years.

A heavy clunk from beyond the warehouse made the floor physically tremble. Thomas frowned, before it happened again and the noise familiarised itself to him. Tallboys. Havelock certainly wasn’t taking any chances in keeping them quarantined here.

A small nudge to his arm made him flinch again. “Tom.”

Quinn had inched closer to him. He was scanning the cage from Thomas’ side, as though searching for something.

“Have you noticed too?”

Thomas gave a stiff nod. “Aeolos isn’t here.”

“Martin doesn’t know.”

“No. He would have sent someone looking.”

“Do you think–”

“Aeolos made it out in time?” Thomas felt his own jaw tighten. The rational part of him battled against the hope he’d felt since he had carried out the first headcount and found the young whaler absent. “I can’t say, Quinn.”

“If they did–”

 _“If_   they did.”

Quinn ignored him. “Then you know the others are coming for us. Aeolos would’ve gone to get them. The music can’t stop that many of us, surely.”

Thomas glanced around at the music boxes. It was true, there were only four in total. But they had clearly been tampered with; the music was more powerful than they had ever come across. Martin had made fine use of his contacts.

“We can’t expect anything,” Thomas said at last. “Whatever happens, whenever it happens, Quinn, just keep your eyes open. There’s little we can do from here.”

Quinn folded his arms and bounced a few times on the balls of his feet with agitation. He finally brought his gaze to Daud. “Corvo’s not here, either.”

No, he wasn’t. And the fact that Daud hadn’t moved or uttered a sound since he’d been dragged in there, his fists bloody and more blood spattered over the pair of cultists escorting him, was enough to tell Thomas that Corvo likely wasn’t coming at all.

“Maybe he got away, too.” Quinn sounded as doubtful as Thomas felt, the both of them watching Daud from a safe and respectful distance away. “They wouldn’t have done anything him. Couldn’t have,” the whaler said. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Thomas didn’t answer.

***

 _Four_   _hours since the Loyalists' betrayal_

The Empress had gotten away. Nobody had dared announce it within earshot, but Thomas’ hearing was sharpened to a fine point by now. The guards outside had changed shift half an hour ago, and he had made out different discussions here and there. _Missing. Escaped. Ten years old, surely couldn’t have gotten far. Lord Regent Havelock furious, glad I’m not on the search team_.

Lord Regent Havelock. Jenkins had heard that part too, and Thomas swiped his boot at the whaler’s shin to stop him from snorting aloud.

There was still no mention of Aeolos, nor of the boatman. Nor of Corvo. Thomas didn’t know whether to take that as reassuring news or not.

***

_Five hours since the Loyalists' betrayal_

From what little he could see of the warehouse’s upper levels, night had fallen.

“Why are they keeping us here?” Rinaldo’s question was a whisper as Thomas passed him by. It must have been his fiftieth time pacing the width of the cage. Perhaps sixtieth. “Thought they’d have taken us to Holger Square by now.”

“They’ll keep us here until Havelock’s been formally instated in the Regent’s office,” Feodor answered from Rinaldo’s side. “Moving a dozen heretics across the city without sanction from Parliament is a foolish move. And Martin and the Admiral, I’m afraid, are no fools,” the whaler credited, though his tone was sour. “I imagine with Pendleton’s help, it shouldn’t take Havelock long to validate the title.”

“I reckon Martin’s gone fishing for the High Overseer’s title, too,” Rapha scoffed. “If Campbell’s book wouldn’t have bagged him the position, then this certainly will,” she said, gesturing around the cage.

Anthony hummed. “Hope that shit-stain trips on his fancy robes at the inauguration ceremony.”

“Breaks his neck,” Yuri added.

Thomas ignored them, and went to lay a hand on Kieron’s shoulder. The whaler was practically trembling with nervous energy. Thomas knew he had been sold into a fighting ring in Driscol as a child, and they had always kept the combatants shut in cages at night.

“Alright?”

Kieron managed a nod. “It’s… just getting to me. I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I worry,” Thomas said gently, though there was little to do about it, confined as they were.

“I'd save your worry for the boss.” Kieron spared Daud a glance, grimacing. “What the Void happened in the attic?”

“They’re all scum, is what happened,” Jenkins bit out before Thomas could attempt an answer. “Spineless, murdering scum–”

 _“Jenkins,”_   Thomas warned.

Daud hadn’t reacted, but Thomas didn’t want to push anything. Not without knowing precisely what had happened above the bar.

***

_Six hours since the Loyalists' betrayal_

He glimpsed at their four Overseer captors once more. They hadn’t changed shifts, unwilling to stop the music even for a second. On their feet for an afternoon and part of an evening, the cultists were obviously tiring, though their music was still whirring at the same, steady pace. Maybe there would be an opening, a chance to for Thomas’ mana to bleed through against the constant drone, and he could take them by surprise.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Feodor murmured to him. “It won’t work.”

Quinn perked up. “What’s he thinking? Tom, what are you thinking?”

“He’s thinking about taking them by surprise,” Feodor answered. “Provided they all drop their guard at the same, exact moment. But he won’t do it, because he knows how _stupid_ and _reckless_ that is.”

Thomas felt his pride crumble somewhat. He folded his arms, trying to give off an air of authority. It was a gesture he’d seen Daud do for years. Was that why, he wondered. Thomas was surprised he hadn’t noticed until now.

“We can’t–”

“Stay here?” Feodor raised an eyebrow. “Thomas, at present we have little choice in the matter.”

“No shit,” Yuri muttered.

“I meant–” Thomas saw one Overseer shift wearily on his feet, and the music stuttered in its tempo as he did. Thomas subtly tried to draw whatever magic he could. He huffed through his nose, embarrassed, when nothing happened. “I meant we can’t wait around for a miracle.”

“You were the one preaching about patience earlier, Tom,” Quinn said pointedly. “But I told you already. Aeolos got away, and the others _will_ come for us.”

“Quinn.” Feodor sighed, pinching his brows together with his thumb and forefinger. “What we need is a simple, realistic, and _intelligent,”_ he shot Thomas a piercing look, “plan. No surprise attacks, no waiting on a rescue that we can’t even be certain is coming. Now, I’ve had a lot of time to deliberate over our options, and what I suggest is–”

The warehouse shook as an explosion reverberated outside. Then the weighty clatter of metal against concrete sent a shockwave of impact against the building. Either a Tallboy had fallen, or someone had taken it down. From the Watch guards’ instantaneous shouting and the harried footsteps crossing the courtyard, Thomas prayed to the Stars that it was the latter.

“Your suggestion, Feodor.” Daud’s order was rough and ragged, but the sound of it sent relief coursing through Thomas.

“There, Sir.” Feodor jerked his head toward the crank wheel near the door, then to the sewer hatch in the cage’s far corner. It had been a failsafe in Sokolov’s interrogation, to make sure the rats Corvo summoned could be cleared out safely. “Yuri’s small enough to fit.”

Another blast, then another, resonated beyond the warehouse’s four walls. The abruptness of whatever was happening outside had caused the Overseers to lower their guard, their gazes fixed anxiously on the door and not the cage. The ancient music hadn’t stopped, but with the cultists’ focus elsewhere, the sound was beginning to stutter and weaken as their turning of the handles faltered.

Daud gave a stern nod Thomas’ way. Thomas marked the crank wheel beyond the bars and drew on the Arcane Bond. It was like struggling to grasp for something whilst submerged in chest-high water, but he pushed, and the sensation of summoning that green beam of light, as frail and faltering as it was, felt like a victory.

The wheel turned, and the metallic scrape of the sewer hatch reeling open was blessedly concealed by the uproar outside. Struggling against the music, Thomas gave a final, forceful pull, and Yuri slipped down into the sewers before the hatch slammed shut.

The moment it did, one of the Overseers ordered, “Do not stop that music for an instant! Anything beyond these walls is the responsibility of the Watch. Stay vigilant, men!”

Everything had happened in little more than ten seconds. The cultists hadn’t noticed.

Thomas basked in the whalers’ collective buzz of both relief and anticipation, before he succumbed to full force of the ancient music. He felt like he’d run across five districts, from the way his muscles were quivering and sweat was beading on his forehead. Still, he doubted another whaler here could have summoned their mana for so long under these conditions; Thomas’ Bond had always been marginally stronger than the others'.

Daud’s hand steadied him when he began to sway. Their leader’s breathing was haggard. Thomas occasionally forgot that Daud was the sole source of their abilities; the Pull must have drained him just as much, if not more.

“Sir. Outside–”

“Is not our concern for now.” There was something stauncher, more resolute, in Daud’s tone now. “The sewer line leads to the shorefront. If Yuri isn’t seen, this shouldn’t take long. Be ready to move.”

Thomas tried to dissect the look in Daud’s eyes. They were fixed darkly on the Overseer nearest the stairs. The one whose blood-stained gloves best matched the scrapes across Daud’s own fists.

“And once Yuri returns, Sir. What do we do with the Overseers?”

Daud’s answer came without hesitation, from between gritted teeth. “Strike them down.”

***

_Seven hours since the Loyalists’ betrayal_

A pair of choke dust canisters clattered down from the upper level, landing between the Overseers and enveloping them in thick, murky smoke. Daud traversed from the cage the second the ancient music was severed.

Thomas followed, suspecting he was likely the only whaler who could tap into the Bond so quickly in the music’s sudden absence. He traversed behind one of the cultists, drawing their sword and cutting them down before they could turn.

When he surveyed the warehouse, he saw that the other three were already dead. Though one was still choking from the gash in his throat, writhing at Daud’s feet. Thomas watched Daud put his boot over the cultist’s neck and _snap._

As the dust cleared enough to see the far walls, Yuri came into view on the staircase above. And beside him–

“Tynan?”

Yuri grinned. “Look who I ran into.”

“Thomas,” Tynan gave a nod in Thomas’ direction, and then Daud’s. “Boss. Aeolos told us you were in a tight spot. Thought we’d come along and see for ourselves.”

Between the bars, Quinn fixed Thomas with a smirk. “Told you.”

“About fuckin’ time.” Arden tapped his knuckles against the cage door, glaring at Yuri expectantly. “D’you mind?”

“You’re welcome for the rescue, fuck head.” Yuri pilfered a pocket knife from one of the Overseer’s robes and slid it into the cage’s lock, jimmying it. Martin hadn’t allowed any of his men to hold the key; it was undoubtedly still with him.

“You should be grateful I came back for you,” Yuri added, shuddering. “That sewer was disgusting.”

“The music’s effects will wear off soon enough, Arden. Save your strength,” Feodor sighed, keeping the whaler from trying to traverse through the bars and tire himself out. “Is that our lot making the bloody racket outside?”

“Too right. Took one of the Tallboys down myself,” Tynan answered as the lock gave. Yuri pulled the door open. “Rulfio brought everyone here soon as Aeolos told us what was going on. Ran into Yuri after I broke off to scout around for you all.”

“Luckily the music didn’t carry so clearly to the higher floors,” Yuri said, patting Tynan on the shoulder, “and this one had the good sense to bring along some choke dust–”

Another chorus of gunshots resounded in the yard outside, and the sizzling impact of a Tallboy’s electrical burst followed seconds after.

“Ours are putting up a fight, but there’s a lot of guards around. One Tallboy left, too,” Tynan warned, already readying the trigger of her wristbow. She turned to Daud. “Orders, Sir? Subdue or kill?”

Daud had bent to retrieve one of the fallen Overseer’s sabres. As his fingers curled around the handle, Thomas saw the force of his grip, how tightly his knuckles were clenched.

“Kill them all,” he ordered. His hands were shaking. “But leave Martin for me.”

It was long before the Empress’ death since Thomas had last heard so much bloodlust in their leader’s voice. It had been a time when they were no better than any other of Dunwall’s street gangs, killing for coin without conscience or second-guesses. Thomas was reminded of those days as he joined the others in purging the Hound Pits of Havelock’s enforcements.

They had surprise on their side. No guard had expected them to escape, not with the comfort of knowing the ancient music was keeping them inside the old hound cages. Once the door was open and each whaler had retrieved a fallen weapon, it was a swift and vicious slaughter.

The second Tallboy fell in under a minute. Thomas only had time to see Daud and Zachary leap from the contraption before it had toppled to the ground. The officer that had been perched in its control station was crushed and skewered beneath one of its metal claws.

“Thomas!” The whaler barely heard the call of his name over the clashing of steel and the guards’ futile and frantic shouts. But he quickly caught sight of Rulfio, signalling him from the balcony of Piero’s workshop. “There’s more stationed inside the pub, they’ve barricaded the doors! Clear them out, we’ll deal with anyone left out here!”

Thomas watched Rulfio traverse at Daud's side, near the steps to the docks. The older whaler hadn’t taken a job in years; he’d always preferred Rudshore, favouring to train their own over venturing into the city. Thomas was almost surprised to see the man’s skills had remained so sharp as he and Daud fought back to back, fending off any guards that had been stationed near the shorefront.

Thomas gathered Rinaldo, Vladko and Leonid, and blinked through one of the pub’s shattered windows. By the time they had rid every room of Havelock’s guards, there was only silence outside, save for the sound of the wind on the river outside. Thomas emerged to a carpet of prone and bloody bodies lying scattered over the courtyard.

A groan to his left caught his attention instantly.

“Feodor.” Thomas moved hastily to the whaler’s side, where he was slumped against the pub’s side door.

The whaler shook his head, gingerly cradling a broken arm against his chest. “A guard caught me by surprise, that’s all.” Feodor’s breathing was hounded from the fight, and more likely from the pain. “The man had one Void of a sword-arm, I’ll give him that,” he added, wincing. “Nothing Montgomery can’t fix once we’re back home.”

“Don’t you be givin’ him any sympathy,” Arden warned, hoisting Feodor to his feet with an arm wound strongly around his waist. “You're getting fuckin’ sloppy, Fee. Had to cut that Watch bastard down myself.”

Feodor mumbled a flustered retort, but allowed Arden to help him hobble to the wall near Samuel’s old makeshift quarters. A subtle nod from Arden over his shoulder assured Thomas that the whaler was in good hands.

Thomas’ gaze skimmed over the yard, assessing the rest of the men. Those who came from Rudshore had clearly been armed to the teeth; there were grenade pins, empty choke dust cannisters, blood-stained steel bolts, all dispersed amongst the corpses. The whalers that had been captured with him were bruised and scraped, but, barring Feodor, seemed otherwise unharmed.

“Glad we made it in time.” Leonid joined him at his side. “From what Aeolos told us, the Overseers were going to move you to Holger Square as soon as they were able.”

“I assume that was their plan. Thank you for coming. I don't know what we would have done.”

Leonid bowed her head, expressionless, but the small action conveyed the unspoken ‘of course’. Then her eyes flit briefly to Daud. “Thomas, I must tell you–”

_“Thomas.”_

The bark of his name brooked no argument. Thomas nodded an apology to Leonid, and made his way over to the workshop.

"Sir."

“Give me a report.”

“That’s all of them. The Hound Pits is ours again.”

There was a heavy and ominous pause. “And Martin?”

Thomas steeled himself. “There’s no sign of him, Sir.”

Daud’s upper lip curled, baring his teeth. He still had a white-knuckled grip on the cultist’s sabre.

Thomas followed swiftly as the man turned and stalked in Rulfio’s direction.

The older whaler was helping Sokolov and Piero lift the workshop’s door. The pair must have somehow barricaded themselves in when the fighting began.

“... can’t say I ever expected to be meeting the Royal Physician himself,” Rulfio was saying. His familiar, breezy tone was somewhat of a comfort after the previous chaos. “At least not under these circumstances. To be quite honest, I assumed we’d have a contract to kill you sooner or later. But no, a rescue it is,” he mused, giving the workshop’s door a hard and final upward shove until it stayed open. “Funny how these things work out–”

Rulfio broke off, expression changing from amused to solemn with alarming speed when he caught sight of Daud.

Their leader marched straight for Sokolov. “Where’s Martin.”

Rulfio stepped between them, stopping the man in his tracks. “Daud, now’s not–”

 _“Where is he,”_ Daud snarled. For a brief and terrible moment, Thomas was sure he’d point the sabre at Rulfio to move him aside.

“Martin and the Admiral ran, not long after the explosions started.” Unafraid, Sokolov approached them from the now unblockaded workshop. Piero was tinkering inside, seemingly oblivious. Thomas could hear him muttering to himself about the Watch’s disrespectful handling of his equipment.

“They left by boat with several guards. They’ll be halfway across the city by now, so good luck catching them,” the Royal Physician added, grunting with distaste. “They’re no doubt hidden away in a cushy safehouse somewhere or other, the cowards.”

Daud shouldered past Rulfio, snarling again when the man tried to stop him.

“Stop- Daud, _stop!_ Where the Void are you going–”

 _“After them!”_ Daud only turned back in an attempt to shrug off Rulfio’s hands. “Let me go–”

“You’ll get yourself killed!”

“You have _no idea_ what he’s done–”

“Daud, you can’t–”

 _“He died in my arms!”_ The sudden rawness, the pain and the fury in Daud’s voice, made Thomas’ insides recoil on themselves. He was only grateful the rest of the men weren’t close enough to hear it too. “That _snake_ stood over him and _watched him die_ , and I intend to do the same to him! Now  _get out of my way,_  or I will cut you down too–”

 _“Daud,”_ Rulfio said firmly, grabbing his shoulder again. Thomas saw the fabric of Daud’s coat crease under the force of the grip. “Samuel got him to us. Corvo's in Rudshore.”

It was now eight hours after the Loyalists’ betrayal, and the first time Thomas had seen anything but anguish in Daud’s expression since.

“He’s alive.”


	2. The Boatman

Samuel Beechworth didn’t fancy himself a hero. He was no one of importance, no one destined for great things.

He was of the lowly sort. First a fisherman, then an officer, then a black market mule; always indistinguishable and insignificant in the bigger picture. Only his Amaranth had ever thought him remarkable, before she, like his mother and brother, had been taken from the world. Now only her name, etched into the side of his riverboat, and her memory remained; and both were slowly fading with the passage of time, and with the harsher waves and bumps that life and the river alike brought with them.

Bumps such as this, Samuel thought grimly, easing the steel bolt free from the Overseer’s head. The noise as he did so was thick, squelching and sickening. But he may need the bolt for later, so he wasn’t about to leave it behind. He’d found the wristbow peeking out from beneath Emily’s pillow, of all places. Emily had taken it from one of the whalers, Samuel suspected. He was grateful that she had forgotten and left it there. It was a silent weapon, much less likely to draw attention than his own battered pistol.

Martin must have sent the lone Overseer up to the tower to collect Emily, after he’d seen Samuel escort her and her nursemaid away. _Too high and mighty to do his own dirty work_ , Samuel found himself judging, uncharacteristically so. Though he felt a little judgement was warranted, given the situation.

He turned the Overseer onto his back and checked his robes for anything that could tell him more about what was happening downstairs. A single note with a short set of instructions.

_‘Take Daud’s men into custody. Make sure the girl doesn’t escape. Long live Lord Regent Havelock.’_

The cultist was far too late, for all the good attacking Samuel on sight had done him. Aeolos had already escaped with Emily and Callista. There was a sewer line connecting the Old Port District with Rudshore in one of the neighbouring apartments. The way would have been faster by boat, Samuel knew, but the Amaranth barely held three people. He couldn’t in good conscious have left Callista in the tower to fend for herself.

No, Samuel would be the one to take the boat, and keep an eye on the pub from the water while Aeolos got Emily to safety and warned the rest of Daud’s men of the Admiral’s betrayal. And at least Samuel had had the good sense to store the Amaranth further up shore that morning, out of sight of the docks. The good sense, too, to warn Aeolos about all this. Martin had always watched Corvo and the others, but Aeolos seemed to have slipped through the Overseer’s careful fingers. As far as he was concerned, the young Whaler was nothing more than a harmless child; a playmate Emily had adopted so she wouldn’t become too bored with her lessons.

Samuel had tried to get Corvo away, too, but Martin had been much too quick; his hand on Corvo’s shoulder, pushing a whisky tumbler into his fingers with a smile. _Too late_ , Samuel had scolded himself. _Too dangerous to loiter now, just get the girl away_. It didn’t feel right, leaving Corvo there, but it’s what his friend would have asked him to do, had he known Havelock’s plans.

Samuel still didn’t fully know the details, still didn’t fully understand it all. All he knew was that the Admiral, Overseer and nobleman had asked him something suspect, had been talking in hushed voices behind Daud and the whalers’ backs for days, and Samuel hadn’t liked it one bit.

He’d been rightly cautious of the Admiral, of course; seeing Havelock’s growing paranoia while Corvo continually spared their targets didn’t sit well in Samuel’s stomach. But he’d never expected _this_.

_‘Long live Lord Regent Havelock.’_

Samuel stored the Overseer’s orders away inside his coat. He’d never have predicted Havelock to become so power-hungry, to plan to use an innocent little girl for his own gain. The Admiral he’d served under had been an honourable man. But some men were no better than the plague rats when it came to power, stopping at nothing to please their hunger, and Samuel was sorry to see that Havelock had fallen to weakness such as that. Havelock had become no better than Hiram Burrows once he’d realised all that he could achieve with an Empress; Emily was everything he needed to control the military. Control Dunwall, maybe. Samuel didn’t know how far his ambition went, and he didn’t want to know.

The Admiral wouldn’t have Emily, not when the man only wanted her in order to secure his future as the new Lord Regent. Samuel wouldn’t have forgiven himself for standing idly by. Emily had gotten away. He had made sure of that, at least.

As he got ready to head down from the tower and towards his riverboat, he heard the unmistakable drone of music boxes filtering through the pub’s windows. Then he saw Wallace approaching a raft near the shore, a dark form hanging limply over his shoulder.

It wasn’t the way of the world, for men like Samuel to be heroes. To change the course of a cruel and plagued city, for instance, in a small matter of weeks. There were men like Corvo for that kind of nonsense.

Men like Samuel just sought to keep the Corvos of the world on their feet.

***

“A right fine mess you’ve gotten into this time, sir.” Samuel threw the oar down beside Wallace’s unconscious form. Corvo didn’t respond, unmoving and deathly pale on the sand as he was, but Samuel didn’t dare assume the worst. Not where Corvo was concerned.

And when he scooped him up into his arms, Samuel thought he felt him stir. “We’d best get you away from here. I don’t want to think about what else they’ll do when they find out her Ladyship’s gone.”

Samuel grimaced as he laid the man down in the Amaranth. “I’m sorry, Corvo. That Overseer had his teeth in too deep.” He returned to the sand, stooped down to lug Wallace over his shoulder, much less carefully. Samuel dropped him down beside Corvo, gave the beach one last wary glance, then started the engine. “Just hold on, now.”

Samuel steered the boat out of sight of the Hound Pits, and made for Rudshore’s waters.

“Aeolos will get Emily home safely, have no doubt about that. They’ll meet us there. Just hold on.”

It was serendipitous, Samuel still thought now and again, for the Amaranth to have juddered to a stop so close to Rudshore all those weeks ago. Several yards from where Corvo had decided to wander that night, hunched forward near the river’s edge and glaring out at the water. Samuel remembered with fondness; the quiet intelligence in his eyes, the sureness of his hands as he’d given over his lighter and steadied the boat while Samuel did his repairs.

He’d known from the beginning what kind of man Corvo was, the kind of capability he had.  But Havelock had known, too, and it seemed he was far less prepared than Samuel to accept it. Now here Corvo was, because of the Admiral’s twisted ambition. Because of Martin’s deceit, and Pendleton’s cowardice, Samuel’s friend, the man he’d followed to hell and back on Delilah’s trail, was at death’s door.

As the current carried them deeper into central Rudshore’s murky ravines, Samuel hazarded a glimpse at his passenger. Still alive, still fighting, thank the Stars, but fading fast. His whole form was trembling, the shadows around his eyes getting darker, the hue of his skin paling as the minutes wore on. Samuel didn’t know what Martin had used, whether Rulfio or Montgomery would even know how to help him, but he had to hope. So he kept onwards. They had to be close.

Samuel knew these winding pathways well, although the mist was helping none. They must have passed the Grieves Refinery and the bridge. There would be some of Daud’s men on watch along the Old Mosley Canal. Not far now.

“Samuel?”

Leonid. The woman was perched on an unstable balcony above them, barely visible through the thick fog obscuring the buildings’ higher floors.

And further up river; three more figures peering across at them from one of the walkways. As Samuel neared, he could make out Killian’s tall build, Tynan’s auburn hair, and a younger boy beside them, hair poking out from beneath a whaling mask far too big for him.

“What the Void–” Killian broke off as he noticed Corvo, shivering and ashen at Samuel’s feet. “Dodge,” he snapped to his companion, “go and get Rulf! Now!” The boy took off in a sprint towards the Chamber, while Killian knelt to haul Corvo into his arms. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?!”

“I don’t know what they gave him, sir, but the Hound Pits isn’t safe anymore.”

Samuel took a cautious step back as Killian and Tynan swiftly disappeared, Leonid taking their place as she traversed down beside him. She jerked her head down at Wallace, who now had a reddish-purple lump swelling on the side of his head. Samuel didn’t feel an ounce guilty for it.

“Who’s this?”

“Lord Pendleton’s manservant. Couldn’t hazard leaving him at the beach,” Samuel answered. “I’m sure he’ll be able to tell you more about all this than I can.”

Leonid whistled, and the fog around them swirled as two more of Daud’s men appeared. “Take this one to the cages. Find me when he wakes up.” Orders given, Leonid gripped Samuel’s arm, “With me, boatman.” In the next second, he was beside Killian and Tynan once again, following them inside the Chamber through one of the windows.

Killian glared back at him. “What the fuck happened?!”

“Havelock and Martin turned on him. I’m sure Pendleton’s with them too.”

“Where’s Daud?” Leonid sounded eerily calm, but the boatman saw her eyes frantically darting from vein to vein where they snaked, visibly purple, beneath Corvo’s skin. “Did he and the others get away?”

“I don’t know what happened to them, I’m sorry. I hardly had chance to get Corvo away from there in time.”

“You still might not have,” Killian muttered through gritted teeth, rounding the corner into Rudshore’s infirmary. “Mont!” He didn’t wait for the older whaler’s response before he shouldered open the doors.

Samuel caught Tynan’s arm, before she could follow Killian and Leonid inside. “Emily– the Empress,” he corrected himself, “she and her governess should be on their way here.”

Tynan’s eyebrows shot up. “Here?”

“Aeolos made sure to get them away from the Old Port District before the Admiral got to them.”

“Which route did they take?”

“A sewer line, beneath one of the buildings.”

“Our underground route? They’ll be coming up from Rudshore Gate.” Tynan patted Samuel on the arm, “Nice job, boatman. I’ll let whoever’s on patrol down there know, we’ll scout around ‘til we find them.”

She doubled back towards the window, traversing towards the District’s underground pathway.

Samuel hastened into the infirmary and saw that Killian had laid Corvo down on one of the beds. The boatman took in his quivering form. His veins had now taken on a darker, more ominous tinge along his arms and neck.

“He’s almost gone,” Leonid said.

Killian fixed Samuel with a fierce look as he neared. “You don’t know what they gave him at all? You didn’t see?”

“Afraid I didn’t, sir.”

“Tyvian poison. Move,” Montgomery elbowed Killian away from the bed, and stuck a syringe into Corvo’s forearm; the luminescent, lime-coloured liquid sinking into his skin.

“Tell-tale signs,” the physician clarified, tapping a finger against the dark veins running the length of Corvo’s wrist. “His mark, Daud’s magic, and his stubbornness are probably all that’s keeping him alive. There are things I can do to dull the poison’s effects to his blood, but he may be too far gone already.”

The diagnosis was clinical, and perhaps would have sounded cold to some. But Samuel knew how much these men cared for their own. The pain in Montgomery’s eyes at his own admission was poorly masked.

“You’ve done all you can, boatman. Out with you and let me work.” the physician ordered. “You too, Killian, be useful and find Akila for me. I’ll need his help. Leonid, you stay. I trust you to remain calm and do exactly as I ask until Akila gets here.” Montgomery moved to the counter to begin mixing remedies, whilst Leonid flit around the room to gather vials by his instruction.

After snatching what looked like a bottle of river krust acid from one of the shelves, Leonid laid her hand, gentler this time, on Samuel’s shoulder as she passed him by. “You did well getting him here. Stars willing, he owes you his life.”

The infirmary doors swung half-closed behind them. Samuel was left in the moss-ridden corridor with Killian cursing under his breath, before the whaler left to find Montgomery’s assistant. The boatman himself wouldn’t wander too far away, not until Corvo’s situation was clearer.

It wasn’t long until Dodge came stumbling around the corner with Rulfio behind him. Samuel felt his stomach drop painfully at the desperation in the older Whaler’s eyes; every bit the look of a terrified father, his expression pleading with Samuel not to tell him the worst.

“Where is he?”

“Mongomery’s got him in there, sir.”

Rulfio didn’t slow down as he pushed passed the infirmary doors. Dodge stayed near the boatman, elbows on his knees and panting from the speed he’d gotten Rulfio there.

The boy peered up at Samuel through his fringe. “What’s going on? Did those men Daud’s working with do something to him?”

“I’m afraid they did.”

“Shit. Rulf’s always saying how he didn’t like the sound of them,” Dodge said. “Where’s Daud? And Thomas?”

Samuel barely managed not to wince. He didn’t know for certain what had happened to the other whalers, but with the ancient music he’d heard and the cultist that came to collect Emily, the likelihood was that Martin had Daud and the rest under his guard now.

“I’ll have to speak to Rulfio about all that.”

Dodge gave a jerky nod, shuffling nervously from foot to foot as he stared at the infirmary. “Is Corvo gonna be alright?”

“I think he will,” Samuel answered, rebuking the nagging part of him that wanted to challenge the surety of his voice. “I don’t think we’d be wise to underestimate him. I just hope I got him here with enough time to spare.”

“Corvo’s the toughest one of us, you know. Even tougher than Arden,” Dodge said. “And Mont’s real smart, he’ll know how to fix him–”

A crash from the infirmary cut him off, and Montgomery and Rulfio’s agitated voices carried through the doors, still slightly ajar.

_“Calm down and let me think, Rulfio–”_

_“What the fuck did they do–”_

_“If you want him to die, by all means stay and bark your questions at me–”_

_“Void, Corvo–”_

Dodge’s eyes widened when the sound of Rulfio’s choked-off sob echoed into the hallway. “Should we go and help?”

Samuel gently stopped the novice from edging closer to the doors. “Best we stay out of the way.”

“ _Fucking_ do something, _Mont_ – _there has to be_ something _, this isn’t happening again_ – _How could they_ do this to him–”

_“Leonid, calm him down or get him out of here, I need to concentrate.”_

Akila traversed into the corridor just as Leonid managed to haul Rulfio out. Akila shot her a questioning look, but Leonid merely shook her head and gestured him inside. She squatted down beside Rulfio as the man sagged against the wall, his shoulders trembling.

Akila bolted the infirmary shut behind him, and it was suddenly, agonisingly silent in the corridor, save for Rulfio’s harried breaths as he pressed his face into his arms.

After a few moments of panicky shuffling, Dodge crept toward the pair and sat down on Rulfio’s other side, leaning against his shoulder. Leonid stayed crouched where she was, rubbing her hand methodically up and down the older whaler’s arm. Samuel remained in his place a few feet away, not willing to intrude any more than he already was.

He was conscious of the passing whalers’ eyes. Most of the younger ones were confused, the older ones deeming it wise to stay out of the way, or at least keeping the more curious novices back after noticing Leonid’s cautionary expression not to approach them.

Samuel knew there would be a lot of questions for him later. As there were when he’d first arrived with Corvo in his boat. He still recalled it clearly.

***

Weeks ago

_If pinning Rinaldo to the wall by his neck that morning hadn’t been enough to warn Samuel about the Knife of Dunwall’s demeanour, then sitting before him now, alone and a mere few feet away, certainly was._

_The man was assessing him intently from across the desk. Samuel wasn’t afraid, as such; he had done nothing to threaten these people, nothing to licence their leader to harbour any ill will towards him. But Samuel supposed that being afraid wasn’t the point. There was something about men like Daud; their presence alone would cause anyone, be it a humble shopkeeper or a hardened soldier, to become unsettled in their own skin, for no obvious reason other than that they were simply in the man’s general vicinity._

_Daud leaned back in his chair, head titled up just so; silently letting Samuel know that lying to him wasn’t an option. “You’re a trader for the black market?”_

_“Indeed I am.”_

_“Not an Overseer spy? Or some nobleman’s drudge hoping to weasel a job out of us?” Samuel shook his head, and Daud took a deliberately slow drag of his cigarette. “Where did you find him?”_

_“The High Overseer’s office, sir. Along the back yard. He looked to be in a bad way.”_

_“So you just,” Daud waved the cigarette between his fingers in a casual gesture, smoke trailing behind, “picked him up, out of the goodness of your heart?”_

_“We’d met before, sir. A good few months ago, but I recognised him all the same. Wouldn’t have felt right to simply leave him there for the Overseers to get their hands on. I know their sort,” Samuel added. “The Abbey’s become mighty violent since the Lord Regent took over the city, and I don’t agree with their methods one bit.”_

_Something, perhaps dangerous, shifted behind Daud’s eyes. “You know who we are?”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“What we do? What we’ve done?”_

_“I do, sir.”_

_“And yet you helped him. Brought him here, despite what you know of us.”_

_Samuel gave a nod. Then, realising it likely wasn’t answer enough, said, “I try my best not to judge anyone I don’t know all too well. It’s true, I know who you are and what you’ve done, but who am I to say you’re bad people without knowing the bigger picture. Now, that wouldn’t make me any better than those Overseers. All I know was that there was someone that needed my help. Someone that I believe, from what I’ve met of Corvo beforehand, sir, was worthy of that much.”_

_Daud’s cold, weighing gaze remained fixed on him, but after a long moment, the man smirked slightly as he took another drag of his cigarette. “You have a way with words, don’t you boatman.”_

_And Samuel knew he’d passed whatever test he’d just been put through._

_Daud opened his mouth to speak again, but the doors to the office opened and Rulfio’s cheerful voice intersected him. “Are you finished interrogating our nice guest?”_

_“Had I been, your interruption would be just as unwelcome,” Daud bit out as the older Whaler approached._

_Rulfio stopped beside Samuel’s chair and gave him a sidelong grin. “A piece of work, isn’t he? You get used to him.” He locked eyes with Daud over the boatman’s shoulder. “Eventually.”_

_Daud’s answering growl didn’t seem perturb Rulfio’s smile. If anything, it had widened. “What do you want, Rulfio.”_

_“Just thought you should know, Corvo’s being a stubborn fuck and refusing to rest. Something about letting you and Thomas know the details of the High Artificer’s upcoming visit to Coldridge?”_

_Daud sighed as he pushed back his chair and stood. “Where is he?”_

_“Ridding the kitchen of all our food, last I left him.”_

_“At least he’s not refusing to eat as well. We’ll take what we can get.” Daud rounded the desk, and motioned Samuel up. “With us.”_

_As Daud stalked through the doors, Rulfio stopped the boatman before he could follow. “I know Daud hasn’t said it, and he won’t,” the man said, glancing knowingly at Daud’s retreating form. “So I will. Thank you for bringing Corvo back to us.”_

_Samuel was in no danger among these men. He was certain now._

***

“Samuel.”

Rulfio’s rough voice pulled the boatman from his thoughts. The older whaler had wound his arm around Dodge at some point, the novice leaning into him and shielding his ears from whatever was happening behind the infirmary doors. Leonid had gone, probably to spread the word of the betrayal and make sure the rest of the whalers were on alert.

“Tell me what–” Rulfio’s voice broke off, a shell of the jaunty, self-assured tone Samuel had first heard in Daud’s office all those weeks past. “Tell me what happened.”

Samuel relayed everything he knew for certain. That it began with Martin asking him if he knew of a spot along the river to hide something safely – that he now knew they had planned for that something to be Corvo, blindsided and poisoned, to be used as fodder for the Admiral’s story. That Havelock’s obsession with taking control from Burrows had festered, becoming something toxic; that he had turned on Daud, and on Emily.

“The girl’s safe?” Rulfio asked.

“Her governess is with her, and Aeolos is leading them here,” Samuel said. “Tynan went beneath the Chamber to find them.”

The older whaler peered down at the top of Dodge’s head, and gave him a nudge. “Go and give her a hand. Can’t hurt to have more eyes down there.”

Dodge sprung up, clearly relieved to have something to do.

“And mind your manners, she’s an Empress,” Rulfio added before the novice traversed from sight. He turned his gaze back to Samuel, “You didn’t think to bring her on the boat?”

“I’d planned to stay as close to the pub as was safe, maybe get a better idea of what was going on,” Samuel said. “But then I saw Pendleton’s manservant – curt fellow, always rubbed me the wrong way. He had Corvo with him in that awful state, and I couldn’t have forgiven myself for not stepping in.”

“The servant, where is he?”

“Wallace, sir. I brought him with us, Leonid told the others to put him in the cages until he regains consciousness. He’ll be no use to anybody before then.”

Rulfio nodded slowly, seemingly letting the all the information sink in.  “The others?”

“Martin has them, I assume.”

“The Overseer. Of course.” The whaler ran a hand over his face and choked out a bitter, exhausted laugh. “I thought I was just being paranoid you know, worrying about them working together, what with our history with the Abbey. Should never have let them deal with Martin. Not after everything that’s happened.”

“No use blaming yourself, sir. Martin had us all fooled.”

“Not you.” Rulfio’s gaze measured him, up and down. “You’re far too unassuming, boatman, it’s dangerous.”

“Not as dangerous as you folks, not by far.” That earned him a weak chuckle. “And you’ll figure something out, you always do. Get Daud and the others out of there, get Corvo back on his feet. Just you wait and see, sir. It will all work out.”

Another chuckle, still a little rough, but there was more life in it than the first. “Void, I can see why you puzzle Daud so much. Buoyancy like yours is all but extinct in this city,” Rulfio remarked.

“Corvo’s always–” The whaler swallowed as his gaze flit back to the infirmary. “Always been fond of you. I know you’ve watched out for him, and I–”

Samuel waved the thanks off before Rulfio could voice it. “I’ll keep on doing so after today, sir. Corvo will pull through, I know it.”

Rulfio shook his head bemusedly. Both his pain and his gratitude at Samuel’s words were written across his face. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and they lapsed into silence until Tynan appeared to tell them the young Empress had arrived.

***

As shaken by Corvo’s state as Rulfio was, the older whaler pulled himself together quickly for Emily’s sake. Beneath the Chamber, the girl had had her hand tightly clasped in Aeolos’. She was clearly shaken too, and uncertain of their new surroundings. Rulfio must have seen something of their younger recruits in her – or a younger Corvo, perhaps – and sympathised.

The older whaler had mustered a warm smile and assured her she was safe. He even gave a bow as he welcomed her to Rudshore. Emily had giggled in response, and some of the weight in the boatman’s shoulders had lifted at the sound.

Samuel explained what he could to the young Empress and her nursemaid, after they had been shown to the kitchens. Emily listened, wide-eyed and furious, as Samuel told her with a heavy heart of why they had needed to leave the Hound Pits so suddenly, and of what had happened to Corvo.

 _“I want to see him!”_ Emily had demanded instantly. _“Let me see him!”_

Only Aeolos had managed to placate her, and now she was curled against the whaler’s side at one of the tables, a plate of food untouched in front of her. Some of the novices had cleared out one of the dorm rooms, but Emily, dog-tired as she looked, was determined to stay awake until Montgomery or Akila had emerged from the infirmary with some news.

Once Rulfio was satisfied the Empress and her nursemaid were settled – as best they could be given the circumstances – he had beckoned Tynan over “Gather everyone but the novices and bring them to the office. They need to know what’s going on.” Rulfio had left the kitchen with a squeeze to Samuel’s shoulder, and the order not to let Emily out of his sight.

Within two hours, the whalers were ready to depart for the Old Port District with most of Rudshore’s weapon stock. Samuel only hoped they weren’t too late.

Rulfio had few words for him before they left; _keep an eye on the novices, Akila’s in charge if anything happens, we’ll be back before sunup so long as we’re not all killed_. Samuel assumed the last one was meant as a joke, but nothing in Rulfio’s voice sounded particularly cheery. The older whaler laid a hand on Samuel’s shoulder before he left; he said nothing else, but Samuel felt the need to smile in response anyway. Maybe it was for reassurance. Rulfio was leaving Corvo here, after all; condition unknown, recovery compromising if Akila’s expression was anything to go by whenever he emerged from the infirmary for a phial or ingredient stored elsewhere.

Samuel watched from the window of Daud’s office, Emily, Callista, and Aeolos at his side, as the whalers disappeared through the rail station.

“They’ll be okay, right?” The young Empress was chewing on her lip, in that way Samuel had seen Corvo do whenever he was nervous or uncertain. “They’ll come back?”

“I wouldn’t worry, your Ladyship. They’ve done this sort of thing before.”

It must have been the right thing to say. Emily leans her weight against his side, and nods.

***

Daud and his people returned two hours before sunrise. They were bruised and bloody, and Feodor had his arm in a makeshift sling, but all were alive as far as Samuel could see. The novices, Aeolos among them, had run out onto the walkways to greet them; relieved and still in shock that something like this could have happened. Samuel didn’t blame them, as he watched from one of the windows in the corridor outside the infirmary, where he’d remained for a majority of the night in case there had been any news. He was still reeling from the events himself. He expected everyone would be for a long time.

Samuel watched Emily rush past the rest of them and fling herself at Daud, wrapping her arms around his middle. Some of the novices stared, and even some of the older assassins looked astonished at the girl’s boldness. But Daud, in front of them all, sunk down to his knees and pulled her close for several moments. Arden and Feodor and some others from the Hound Pits looked relieved to see the Empress, too, and a few metres away, Callista had her arms wrapped around the back of Thomas’s neck, and her head buried in his shoulder, and it suddenly hit Samuel that perhaps none of them had known that Emily or her nursemaid had gotten away. Perhaps they had assumed Havelock and Martin had fled with them in their custody.

When Daud and Rulfio appeared in the corridor behind him, Samuel had no good news to give.

“Nothing yet, sir,” he told Rulfio grimly. “Though that means there’s still hope, too. Poison’s no easy fix.”

Daud looked weary and haggard and beaten, but something in his expression gave Samuel no choice but to step aside from the infirmary door and allow him to pass. Not that Samuel thought he could have stopped him anyway.

Instead, he followed him, as did Rulfio, as Daud shouldered open the doors stalked toward Montgomery. The older whaler gave an irritated growl when he peered over his shoulder at them, but at the sight of Daud, he heaved a sigh, and beckoned him closer.

“Ten minutes,” he warned, “then you all leave. I still have work to do.” The physician’s assessing gaze moved over Daud, before apparently deciding he didn’t need to be checked over. “Good. I won’t have to waste any of my supplies on you. With what I imagine is about to happen in the city, now that this Havelock fellow has taken over, I doubt it will be so easy to get our hands on elixirs and tonics anymore.”

Daud wasn’t listening, as far as Samuel could tell. The man looked broken, from relief, from worry – maybe from everything – Samuel couldn’t guess, as Daud sank into the chair beside the bed and laced one shaking hand through Corvo’s, the other pushing back the tangled hair from his face.

Corvo was in much the same position as when Samuel had left him; lying still and barely breathing, but now the black, poisonous marks beneath his skin were no longer visible. And there was some colour back in his face, his lips, and Samuel could swear, his chest loosening at the thought, that he saw Corvo’s fingers twich where Daud held them steadfastly in his grasp.

“Will he be all right?”

If Montgomery heard the frailty, the rough crack to Daud’s question – and Samuel suspected that he did – then he said nothing. “He’s stable,” the whaler assured. “For now. I can do little more. I think the rest is up to him.”

“He’s stubborn,” Daud retorted, a weak and broken chuckle to his voice.

“That he is.” Montgomery moved to the sink. “Ten minutes,” he repeated firmly, while Rulfio pulled over another chair to sit beside Daud, a hand coming to rest on the man’s shoulder.

Taking in the scene, Samuel decided that Corvo was in definitively good hands. He made to leave, give them some much needed space, reaching the door when–

“Samuel.”

Daud wasn’t looking at him; his gaze was fixed staunchly on Corvo; on the way his chest only barely rose and fell. But there was something resolute in Daud’s eyes, and Samuel already knew what he was going to say.

“Don’t thank me, sir,” the boatman cut across him. “I’d do it again, you know I would.”

Daud looked ready to argue, ready to battle through his own stubbornness and thank him regardless. But eventually he pressed his lips into a thin line, gave a short nod in dismissal, and Samuel let the doors sway closed behind him as he went to see what help he can be elsewhere around the Chamber.


End file.
